


Hellebore

by FriendlyCybird



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Hopeful Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: Hanahaki disease.  Named from the Japanese words for Flower and To Throw Up. A rare disease most commonly occurring in East Asia. Symptoms are exactly what it sounds like and the cause… well that just sounded dumb. But three pages deep into the search results for his fifth term used and there was no denying it. Dipper was physically ill with a rare disease caused by unrequited love.If you’d asked him over the summer if loving her was killing him, he’d have said “not literally, but kinda.” or maybe even just “Yes!” if he’d felt like being particularly dramatic in that moment. He came to terms with the fact that he would die for her if he had to a long time ago.  This though? Was uncomfortably literal, and the more he read the worse it got.





	1. Self Diagnosis

**Author's Note:**

> Put the words "Hanahaki Disease" and "Gravity Falls" next to each other and my mind flies to Wendip.   
> I realize nobody asked me to put those phrases next to each other it just happened and I decided to see just how fucked up I could make it without actually killing anyone.   
> Enjoy.

The clock ticked past midnight, August became September, and Dipper Pines had a coughing fit.

He shouldn’t have been awake, much less at his desk, mindlessly sketching. An oceanscape, by then. Anything to stop his pencil from recreating the skyline of Gravity Falls again. Or worse, her. His thoughts hummed in speeding circles, present but drifting to the background. Then he had the sudden sensation of choking and reflexively coughed again and again to dislodge the offending object. HIs throat cleared, and he could feel whatever had been blocking it on his tongue, strangely silky. Dipper reached his finger and thumb into his mouth and removed what seemed to be a small, white flower petal. 

Weird. 

Three months in the weirdness capital of the world had desensitized Dipper. He tossed the petal into the trash can under his desk and returned to his oceanscape until his hand got too heavy to lift the pencil. Then he got up and trudged the few steps to his bed, curled up under the covers, and utterly failed to sleep without the sound of his sister’s breathing across the room to calm the dizzying mumbles of his mind. ‘

It was not an isolated occurrence. Far from it. Every night for a week, always a night, always a single white petal. Always when exhaustion had muted his racing thoughts but before his body could give in to the necessity of sleep. 

Then it happened at school. 

Coughing fits during gym class were really nothing new for Dipper. He didn’t think anything of it when he lost his breath halfway around the track he’d been jogging and doubled over; covering his mouth because much as he wanted to hack openly into the grass he couldn’t help but care a little about appearances. So when he pulled his hand away to discover a pair of white petals in it, he stared at them for a long moment, then curled his hand into a fist when he felt his teacher come up behind him. “You okay, Pines?” 

“Yeah.” he answered, shoving the offending objects into his pocket, because they’d draw too much attention just shaken out of his hand. “Just a little winded.” 

“Take it easy.” the teacher said, surprising advice from a gym teacher. “Don’t hurt yourself out there, but mind your time.” 

When another petal came out that night, it was the final straw. Every day for a week then twice in one? Dipper started his research. He didn’t have the journal anymore, but he’d all but memorized it and, at least journal 3 had nothing on the subject. He had something better though, access to the author. 

Halfway through composing an e-mail to Grunkle Ford on the subject, Dipper backed out of his e-mail account and returned to the web search homepage. He’d realized as he typed how it sounded. Coughing fits. Flower petals. It sounded vaguely romantic, didn’t it? Perhaps this was a mystery better solved on his own. So, some web searching would be required. 

Half an hour later, Dipper had his answer. He doubted he’d be sleeping any time soon tonight. 

Hanahaki disease. Named from the Japanese words for Flower and To Throw Up. A rare disease most commonly occurring in East Asia. Symptoms are exactly what it sounds like and the cause… well that just sounded dumb. But three pages deep into the search results for his fifth term used and there was no denying it. Dipper was physically ill with a rare disease caused by unrequited love. 

If you’d asked him over the summer if loving her was killing him, he’d have said “not literally, but kinda.” or maybe even just “Yes!” if he’d felt like being particularly dramatic in that moment. He came to terms with the fact that he would die for her if he had to a long time ago. This though? Was uncomfortably literal, and the more he read the worse it got. 

When Mabel poked her head into his room at quarter to four in the morning, Dipper almost slammed his laptop shut. Like he’d been looking at porn. He resisted the temptation, hand on the lid of his laptop, instead just opening another tab to show his homepage instead. “Dipper? Are you gonna sleep tonight at all?” 

“Sorry.” he said automatically. “Just. Fell down a research hole. We can stop by the store for an energy drink on the way to school.” 

Dipper was instantly glad he’d changed tabs, because Mabel wandered over beside him and leaned heavily against his side, draping her arm across his shoulders. “Whatcha researching?” 

Dipper glanced across his tabs. An online radio station that had paused naturally without him noticing. Two social media sites. His new tab, and two from his research, one just an online document for notes, still untitled, the other displaying the letters Hanaha before cutting off. Best stick close to the truth then. “Just some weird Japanese stuff.” he said. The thought flowed naturally as soon as he said the words. “Are we getting Soos a Christmas present or a Hanukkah present this year? Like, his family’s catholic but Grunkle Stan kinda all but adopted him…” 

If Mabel thought it was weird he was thinking about gift-giving already a week into September she didn’t say anything. She got caught up in the premise and an hour later they were searching auction sites for obscure anime series. Just before five AM Mabel promised she would begin her reconnaissance into what DVDs Soos already owned in the morning, as she wanted to catch an hour or two extra z’s before school. Dipper bid her goodnight and, once sure she was gone, returned to his research. 

The knot of guilt formed about twenty minutes later. He had just effortlessly lied to his own twin, and kept up the ruse for over an hour. He didn’t know if doing it to hide the fact that he had apparently developed a terminal illness during their time in Gravity Falls made it better or worse. Yes, terminal. By the time the sun began peeking through Dipper’s bedroom curtains, he was certain of that much. Hanahaki disease was typically, ultimately fatal. 

He didn’t return to his research for months. The disease progressed, and Dipper kept it secret. How does one tell their family they’re dying from their own feelings, after all? He cut off contact with Wendy. Buried her hat in the far corner of the laundry room and hoped his mom wouldn’t ask him whose it was when she found it. That seemed to just make it worse though, the ache in his chest he now knew wasn’t purely emotional got worse. He was spewing upwards of five petals a day across three or four coughing fits. So he dug the hat back out, actually washed it, and started wearing it as the chill of fall began setting in. 

There were good days and bad days, as with any disease, he imagined. One or two petals a day on good days, seven or eight on bad ones. On bad days, some of the petals were yellow instead of white. The fits still usually happened at night. He tried going to bed earlier, as soon as he finished his homework. Sometimes the coughing fits would happen during the day instead, other times they’d wake him up. One particularly memorable night in mid-November he couldn’t breathe at all when he woke. Couldn’t even pull in enough air to cough. _This is it_ he thought. Convinced in that moment he would suffocate in his bed and die. Eventually he managed to choke out a clump of four or five bright yellow petals that got spit all over his quilt. Suddenly he understood why the other half of the word Hahahaki implied puking. The choking had set off his gag reflex and he barely thought to scoop the petals into his trash can before bolting to the bathroom so his dinner could safely come up as well. 

His mom came in the bathroom to check on him just about when he was done. She pulled him into a hug and rubbed his back and he buried his face against her and cried. He knew it seemed dumb, crying because he’d puked a little. It was a flimsy justification, but he took it. He cried for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Clinging to his mother and praying that all this would just go away. 

The next day she kept him home from school, and threw out the meat sauce she’d used with dinner the night before “just in case” and the knot of guilt in his stomach grew. So, apparently, did the flowers in his lungs, as he managed to cough up a full dozen petals between four coughing fits. Half of them yellow. The day after that he bought a notebook. A simple spiral-bound one subject notebook with a blue cover. He opened it at his desk before even starting his homework and started writing. 

_**This notebook is only to be read in the event I, Mason “Dipper” Pines suffer an untimely death. Included in these pages ought to be instructions for the handling of my body, and distribution of my possessions, followed by a letter addressed to each of my loved ones. As I am not of legal age and will not mark this notebook as important in any way, I expect most of the instructions to be disregarded. I do insist that the letters be torn from this book and distributed as addressed though. Thank you.”**_

 

That single paragraph took half an hour to write. Constant stop and start and reconsidering phrasing and word choice and he was writing in pen too so he had to be extra careful. No crossing things out like he’d done in Journal 3. This had to look professional if he had any hope of it being taken seriously. He actually ripped out three pages before being content with the final version. Then, exhausted, he closed the notebook and spent the rest of the evening on homework. 

He spent the rest of the month on the instructions, although there weren’t many of them. Legally speaking, the bulk of his more valuable possessions actually belonged to his parents. Things like his video games, his books, and items with sentimental value took some time to mentally distribute. He added a small handful of local friends to the list of people he’d need to write letters to, just to explain the choices for what physical items he intended to leave to them. Just in case his intentions actually played out, and if they didn’t, so they’d know what he had wanted. 

Largely, it was just a surreal experience. The awareness he was going to die dramatically overtaking the awareness of why. Once or twice over the summer, he’d had the passing thought that he was about to die. It was like each of those moments were being stretched into months and he wanted nothing more than to talk about it. He should tell Mabel, he knew. He reflected at the beginning of December that his initial lie and subsequent daily lies of omission would open a gulf between them sooner or later. For a moment that stretched into the next several days, he hoped he would choke to death first. 

In the first week of December, he wrote his letter to Mabel. It was ten pages long by the end, front and back, a solid seventh of the pages available in the notebook. He cried five times writing it and it took him all seven days from the first to the start of Hanukkah to get it done. Then he decided to take a break from writing goodbye letters for the holiday. On some level, maybe he’d expected that decision to also put his disease on a break too, because when he woke up on December 8 and promptly hacked out a pair of bright yellow petals, he couldn't help but feel surprised, and a little betrayed by his own body in a way he hadn’t been able to put into words until than. 

On the third day of Hanukkah, multiple packages came in the mail. Gifts, mostly ordered by their parents over the internet, arrived and were distributed. There were two extra boxes though. One with a foreign postmark, the other from Gravity Falls. Mabel shrieked and tore into the former, leaving Dipper to open the later. He stopped to open the attached letter first, and froze when he recognized Wendy’s handwriting. 

_**Officially, these are holiday presents. Unofficially, it’s a bunch of junk we couldn’t sell the last of in the Gift Shop. I thought it’d be funnier to make you two fight it out over everything but Soos insisted we send doubles. We did three handwriting tests to decide who would write the note. Melody won every time but since you don’t know her too well you got me instead. Hope you enjoy everything, and can’t wait for next summer! - Wendy. (Soos, Melody, and Mrs. Ramirez.)**_

Dipper could hardly see when he was done with the letter. He pushed the contents of the box around without unpacking it. Bobble heads, Shirts, he did pull out a pair of hats identical to the one he’d worn for the summer. He blinked hard, desperately coaching himself not to cry. Mabel was squealing in delight and pressed a stuffed polar bear, a puzzle box of some kind, and a thick envelope into his arms. Gifts from their great uncles. Dipper set the former two aside and dug into the thick envelope. He managed to skim the cover page, a quick note in Ford’s familiar handwriting that said something about appreciating having someone to share his speculations about the enemies he and Stan had encountered with. 

Dipper was pretty sure the purpose of the stuffed polar bear was not to squeeze and bury his face in so he didn’t sob on Hanukkah. It’s what it ended up good for after he dropped the letter and stack of notes from Ford. The cheap fabric and soft, faux fur smelled like mail and Mabel came over and curled into Dipper’s side to check through the box from Gravity Falls. When she turned to him and said simply “I miss them too.” he couldn’t take it anymore, got up and excused himself. 

He came back a few hours later, just in time for dinner. Everything felt surreal though, because while it seemed nothing had changed for anyone else, something deep and intensely personal had changed for him. Dipper was done giving up. He was going to fight, he had people to fight for. It was time to get to the bottom of this Hanahaki crap and find a way to get better. 

It turned out, not only was there a cure, it was embarrassingly easy to find information about it. He may actually have seen some of these articles on his first web search adventure, he just hadn’t understood them. Vague references to a surgery had meant nothing to him before he understood the disease entailed flowers literally growing in his chest cavity. Now though? It was clear. There was a surgery to cure Hanahaki Disease...and it was controversial. At best. In fact, Dipper could find almost no information about it besides opinion pieces declaring the surgery to be a direct affront to the will of God. 

Well then. Time to find a more professional source than the internet. 

The first day of Winter Break, Dipper informed his parents he’d be spending the day at the library, and hopped a bus to Oakland. He hadn’t ridden a bus since the end of summer, and while the city busses were laid out a bit differently than the ones he and Mabel had taken to and from Gravity Falls, the nostalgia set off one of his worst coughing fits to date. The driver and three fellow passengers checked up on him. He thought it was over when a single yellow petal came out, but fell right back into it until a clump of too many white ones followed. By the time Dipper got to his stop, his eyes were watering and his throat burned. 

Thankfully, the cool late-December air took care of the nausea before he got to the library, where he spent hours digging through their collection of medical texts. It was lucky most of the texts were so dry, as he kept getting distracted and trying to read about other illnesses as he went. The first spark of boredom would always set him back to his task. It took hours, but he finally found a chapter on Hanahaki Disease. Dipper settled in at one of the library tables, grabbed some scratch paper, and started taking notes. 

Mechanically, the surgery was simple. All the usual risks of surgery, anesthesia, oxygen circulation. The text was hardly a step-by-step guide, but Dipper got the jist of it. Cut him open, take out the flowers, sew him up. A lot of other medical detail steps in between, but that was the basics. So why the volatile reaction online? When he found the paragraph that started to explain that, he had to read it three times before he finally understood. 

The surgery didn’t just remove the physical symptom, but the emotional root as well. Somehow, in removing the flowers...his feelings for Wendy would be removed as well. 

Oh. 

That was okay, wasn’t it? Sure, something in him shied away at the idea of his emotions being physiologically manipulated like that. Still, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been trying to get over her. He tried re-reading the paragraph, and then reading further, trying to determine if it would just be his romantic feelings for Wendy that he would lose, or all of his feelings for Wendy. For that matter, how did he even parse those out from each other? Dipper couldn’t fathom just. Not loving her anymore. Would he just stop caring for her? She wouldn’t mean anything more to him than any other attractive teenage girl? ...would he even still find her attractive? 

There were too many questions, and this dry textbook chapter was not giving him the answers he was looking for. In fact, it just gave him more questions, because apparently, that was just what happened if the surgery went well. His stomach dropped reading the final paragraph, and that was all the acknowledgement the side effects got, a paragraph. Citation of multiple instances of the patient losing all memory of the subject of their affection post-surgery. As if that weren’t bad enough, the last sentence…

Dipper closed the book with a thud and tore up his notes. 

So much for surgery. 

It was on the bus home that Dipper began to reconsider that gut-level dismissal. Why had he reacted so strongly? Nevermind that it seemed like it was only a slim possibility. Was a hypothetical future romantic interest worth his life? - yes, if he’d love her like he did Wendy. An unsubstantiated hope began to take root, that if he could just..fall in love with someone else than the feelings, and with them the flowers, would go away on their own. He didn’t want to cling to that hope too closely, that’d be a lot of pressure to put on any new romance he could possibly find. It wouldn’t be fair, if he could even find it. 

Still. It was quite a blow to realize that his only hope of survival was to risk his very ability to feel romantic attachment. Which, again, how could he even begin to parse out what that meant from other kinds of love? He’d never put much thought into how there were different kinds of love. Loving Wendy came as naturally to him as breathing, just like loving his parents, his grunkles, even Mabel. It wasn’t until now he’d stopped to think about the ways it was fundamentally different. Besides the obvious elements of physical attraction, what else separated the feelings? For a moment he entertained the thought it was admiration, or the nerves… his first meeting with great-uncle Ford killed that possible distinction. So what was it? He spent the whole bus ride thinking about it and couldn’t place the difference. Then he went into an extending coughing fit that made him miss his stop and produced a series of single white petals. 

The walk back from the stop he eventually got off at was longer than expected, and Dipper wasn’t home until after dark. His technically-true excuse of having missed his stop and having to walk home had led to a family meeting later in the month that led to a New Years present of brand-new cell phones for himself and Mabel. Smart phones at that. The underlying meaning behind the gift, the concern for his safety as they allowed him greater independence, only made the knot of guilt he’d been carrying in his gut since he first lied to Mabel in September that much worse. Here he was with a loving family, looking out for his long-term well being, and he couldn’t even tell them he was sick. 

It was using that phone to text with Wendy a few weeks later that he had the realization. Why he’d felt the need to keep it secret. Beyond just not wanting to worry his loved ones, or suffer their suffocating concern. He needed to tell her first. It was, after all, all about her, wasn’t it? He was sick because of his feelings for her. Loving her might literally kill him, and surviving meant he would never feel the same way, for her or possibly anyone else, ever again. So didn’t she deserve a say in what he did? 

He must’ve tapped out the words “Hanahaki Disease” a dozen times over the next few months in text windows to Wendy. He always backspaced them and everything else he’d have said on the subject. Again and again he concluded it was a conversation best had in person, and again and again he wavered on that and almost told her by text. Once he called her even, but he’d forgotten to text first and she answered quickly and told him she had to go before hanging up on him. Later she texted that she’d been in the middle of making dinner and they’d joked about her cooking for a few minutes before he lost his nerve entirely. 

Dipper graduated from Eighth Grade on May 18, two weeks before returning to Gravity Falls. He’d finished his letters almost a month ago. Stan, Ford, Soos, A couple friends here in Piedmont even. The hardest had been the one to his parents. It’d come in just under two pages but every word had been agony. The morning of graduation he gagged brushing his teeth and coughed up a pair of petals in a brand new color. At first he thought they were just white, but as he threw them away he noticed the hint of pink in their edges. That was new. New developments were double edged. On the one hand, they ignited his curiosity like nothing else. On the other, it couldn’t possibly be good news. 

He very nearly missed his cue to walk at the ceremony. Feeling a bad attack coming on, Dipper excused himself to the restroom where he coughed and gagged for much too long. He gripped the sink tight, choking and hacking and briefly he questioned if he might die here. The boys room of his school theater. Well, if he wasn’t going to make it to high school it was as fitting an end as any. He was still crying as much from the thought as from the horrific burn in his throat and the lack of oxygen to his brain. Then it came up, and for a second Dipper thought he was just puking. 

Then, coated with spit, an entire flower plopped out of his mouth into the sink. No stem, just five white petals around a yellow-green center. Gasping for breath, Dipper stared at it for what felt like a long time. Everything burned. His lungs, his throat, even his nose felt like it was on fire. Every breath just aggravated the pain. He coughed a little more, but they were forced little things. There weren’t more petals coming up right this minute. Just...this...this new development was...something terrifying. He sucked in a long breath, and it burned. He breathed back out, and it burned. He breathed, clutching the sink, until the burning eased and he could, gingerly, pick up the flower from the sink. 

Then Dipper dug into his backpack and pulled out a book he didn’t care too much for and pressed the flower in the pages. A point of curiosity to indulge. What kind of flowers was he hacking up anyway? He returned the book to his backpack, and himself to the ceremony just in time to slip into line behind Mabel and file into his seat for the ceremony. He dropped his hand and wiggled it, and she took it and squeezed. If he squeezed back even harder, she’d probably think it was just nerves and not pain. 

Mabel must have been actually nervous, she didn’t let go of his hand until her name was called and she crossed the stage. Dipper followed a moment later. 

That night, he pulled the now dry and rather flat flower from its book, set it on his desk and snapped a picture before throwing the entire thing in the trash. After that he texted the photo to his friend Zachary, who was something of a wizz with plants. The text to follow simply read “Hey do you know what kind of flower this is?” 

“Looks like a Christmas Rose. Why?” 

“No reason.” It was an obvious enough of a lie it didn’t even feel like a lie. More a polite way of saying none of your business. Christmas Rose. Dipper made a mental note to look that up after dinner. He didn’t have to. When he got back to his phone it had a dozen notifications, all from Zachary, detailing the flower that Dipper had thrown up. 

The Christmas Rose was another name for the white Hellebore flowers. Hellebore Niger, in particular. Apparently the roots were black, which was imagery Dipper really hadn’t needed. Black tendrils flowing from green stems digging into his lungs and heart… he dismissed the thought the best he could and kept reading. A list of countries where it was typically found - a variety specific to Japan called Snow Queen jumped out at him, as much for the place of origin as for the fitting name. Apparently it was poisonous, which accounted for the burning, but had a long history of medicinal use anyway. Supposedly there was a superstition that associated the flower with protection from evil and there was also a myth about them involving the Christ Child which - Dipper wasn’t sure how he felt about that last part. He wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it, honestly. He texted back a quick “Thanks, Zach.” 

“No, thank you.” the reply came a little too quickly, and Dipper abruptly remembered his friend had virtually no social life and Dipper had come out of the blue with a question about one of his biggest passions. 

He stared at the phone a while too long, then texted back a suggestion that they hang out before he headed to Oregon for the summer. The other boy hastily agreed and they made plans. Dipper almost canceled the plans when he woke up the morning of because he coughed up a series of pink petals before he could even finish getting ready. Ultimately he was glad he went. He got to hang out with a friend, play card games and board games and talk about science - albeit slightly heavier on the botany and geology than Dipper was generally interested in. Despite the rough start it was a good day, and Dipper snuck in a few more questions about the Hellebore flower. It was in no way illuminating regarding his condition, but it satisfied the curiosity born when he saw that flower in the sink at graduation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper tells Wendy.

Before he knew it, it was the first of June and Dipper was on his way to Gravity Falls and the first step to coming clean about this whole thing. First he’d talk to Wendy in person, then to his family, and finally at the end of summer to his parents. That would give him enough time to make a decision. Really though, it shouldn’t even be a decision. Isn’t that what you said when the options were to do something or else die? That you had no choice? Of course, he also hadn’t counted for the logistical nightmare of spending an entire day in an enclosed vehicle with Mabel. 

He should just tell her, he decided. He wanted to tell Wendy first, to give her some say. Mabel was his twin though, and he’d lied for her for too long. Sure, maybe she’d make a scene, spill the truth to everyone in Gravity Falls and Dipper would be left to pick up the pieces. But wouldn’t that be easier than breaking everyone’s hearts in the first place? Of course, no sooner had he decided this then she fell asleep. She then stayed asleep through two of Dipper’s fits, each producing a pair of petals, the first yellow and the second pink. She stirred a little when Waddles, who they had somehow managed to get permission to bring on the bus again, nosed at his pocket trying to get at the petals that Dipper now knew were probably poisonous and thus a bad idea to feed to his sister’s pet pig. 

They arrived in Gravity falls to hugs all around. Dipper may have let his arms linger a little longer around each of his great-uncles than he might have otherwise. The awareness of how much coming clean would hurt them weighing on him with a new heaviness. They got to the Mystery Shack and Soos also greeted them with hugs. Melody with handshakes, and Abuelita with cheek-pinching and curtly directing them all to the kitchen where a card table had been roughly pushed against the small dining table to accommodate all seven of them. 

Eight, it turned out. 

“Hey guys!” 

Dipper flushed when he saw her. His throat closed, his chest burned, and he barely managed to mumble “‘scuse me” before darting off to the restroom to cough out a clump of pink petals. He heard laughter behind him, and winced. It must have looked pretty bad, him taking off when he saw Wendy. He wondered what they thought he was doing in here and blushed at some options he hoped hadn’t occurred to them. Then he came back, greeted Wendy with a hug, and all eight sat down to an enchilada dinner. 

The sun was just beginning to set when Wendy started leaving, and Dipper followed her onto the porch. It was now or never. “Hey Wendy!” she turned to look at him. “Can - um. Can we talk?” Wendy looked hesitant and Dipper could have kicked himself. “I’m sorry about earlier just - please?” 

“Nothing to be sorry for, dude.” she said easily. “Just I cut out on family dinner to be here so I oughtta get home soon. What’s up?” 

Dipper fidgeted and glanced around. He opened the door again a crack to be sure no one was waiting by it. He glanced in just in time to see everyone file into the living room and settle in front of the TV. Good, they’d have privacy. “Do you have time to sit? We should probably sit.” 

A look of concern crossed Wendy’s face. “You okay, man?” she asked. 

Dipper sighed and crossed to the couch on the porch. “No.” he answered honestly. “I’m really not.” 

Wendy sat beside him. “Alright.” she said after a moment. “Spill. What’s up?” 

This was it. He couldn’t look at her. This was a mistake, he shouldn’t tell her, he didn’t even know how to start. It was too late now, he’d told her something was wrong. The only way out of this was a lie. So he struggled for several moments before blurting out “Have you ever heard of Hanahaki Disease?” 

“No.” she answered, and he winced, because that made this a million times harder. Not that he’d expected her to know. It was obscure. He took a deep breath to answer when Wendy spoke again, an edge of panic in her voice. “Dipper, are you sick?” when he didn’t answer right away, just staring at his hands, her voice lifted again “Holy crap! Dipper! You’re - how bad is it?” 

He wanted to soothe her. He wanted to tell her he’d be okay but that wasn’t true. “Bad.” he said finally. “I’m sorry…” 

“Dude. Nothing to be sorry for. Seriously.” She had no idea and Dipper closed in on himself even further. “So what...what is it? Hana-something? I’ve never heard of it.” 

Dipper managed the shell of a laugh and “It’s uh. It’s pretty obscure.” he admitted. “Apparently it’s most common in East Asian women for some reason?” Because random details like that he could share. Endless nights searching the web had given him dumb points of information like that. 

“It’s not like...some kind of cancer or anything is it?” and Wendy sounded so lost that Dipper couldn’t help but reach out and take her hand. To his surprise, she squeezed it and just “Dude, it’s not. Is it?” 

“Not exactly.” he answered. “I mean, it does, technically involve a kind of a...growth?” she squeezed his hand harder and he took a breath that cut off into a cough and she looked alarmed. The cough passed without anything coming up although he could feel a telltale tickle at the back of his throat that told him it wasn’t over. “My lungs…” he said after a moment, trying to find a way to explain it. 

He didn’t get the chance. Wendy practically launched herself at him and hugged him tightly. “It’s okay, dude.” she said, but he could tell she was comforting herself as much as him. “You’re gonna be okay.” then she pulled back to look at him. “When do you start treatment?” then, something seemed to occur to her. “Dude, why are you even here? Doctors have to be way better in California.” 

Dipper winced. Here it was. “I don’t know.” he admitted, and Wendy looked at him, not quite puzzled, but prompting. He could see just a hint of annoyance in her expression and he knew he was about to make it a whole lot worse. “Actually, you’re...kinda the first person I’ve told?” 

The annoyance promptly took over her expression, only to be bumped back down by confusion. “Dipper…” she began, voice stretching as she tried desperately to still sound kind. Then she abandoned the pretense. “What the fuck?” 

Well. That was new. Wendy cursing was definitely new and not at all hot and Dipper needed just a second to deal with the fact that that had happened. He blew out a long breath and just. “Hanahaki Disease.” then he explained “Haki is from the Japanese word, um, I think it’s Hakamasu? It means to Throw Up. and Hana…” he took a breath. “It means Flowers. Wendy, Hanahaki isn’t random.” 

Wendy went pale. “Choking on flowers.” she echoed. “I’ve heard that saying - you mean it’s real?” Dipper nodded, and Wendy looked away, and slowly pulled away from him. “Dude…” she said slowly, at first just scooting toward the other end of the couch. “Dude you mean…” she took a deep breath. “Dipper. This is important. How did you get Hanahaki Disease?” 

Dipper couldn’t answer. His eyes were full of tears and he was about to go into a coughing fit. He could only barley squeak out a soft “I’m sorry.” before Wendy got to her feet. 

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” and just like that she was gone. 

Dipper curled up on the couch, burying his face in the cushion and coughing out a pair of little white petals. He wondered what would happen if he just ate them. They weren’t that poisonous, were they? It was a weird thought and he knew exactly why he had it but he did his best to ignore it, instead just pocketing the petals and walking back inside. There, he squeezed between Ford and Soos at Stan’s feet and curled into Ford’s side. He was rewarded with an arm around his shoulders and a hair ruffle from Stan. Seemed a year at sea had done wonders for the old men’s ability to show affection. 

Dipper resolved to tell them all over dinner tomorrow. If Wendy’s reaction was anything to go by, he half expected to be on a bus home within the week. 

He saw her again the next day. She was behind the counter at the gift shop when he started out toward the woods. It felt strange, walking through the Mystery Shack gift shop with intent to go exploring without the journal in his vest pocket. He had to make the most of today though. It might be his last in Gravity Falls. Much as part of him wanted that to mean spending time with loved ones - he really needed to spend some time with the town itself too. 

He didn’t look at her as he passed, so he was startled when she greeted. “Hey.” 

He stopped and looked at her. “You sure you want to talk to me?” he said, maybe a little colder than he meant to. 

Wendy winced. “Yeah.” she answered. “Yeah, I did some thinking and - you’re still a jerk, but not for the reasons I thought.” 

“Oh?” he hadn’t expected that. 

“Yeah. It’s not your fault you go sick.” she said and Dipper felt a strange pang in his heart. “Ugh.” she grumbled and smacked the counter beside the register. “Your feelings aren’t your fault. It sucks. It sucks so much.” she sighed and shook her head. “You’re really cool, Dipper. I just wish us being friends was...you know. Easier on you.” 

Dipper didn’t even have to think. He stepped toward her. “Being your friend is the easiest, most natural thing in the world, Wendy.” He wanted to touch her. His hand still could feel the ghost of the warmth from when he’d taken hers. He still felt guilty for the hug though, like he’d coerced her or something. 

“But you want more.” she said, voice heavy. 

He huffed. “Who wouldn’t?” 

Wendy snorted. “A lot of people, actually.” she answered. She shook her head, then considered a moment before saying “Honestly, most people who’ve...really seen me as deep as you have...well...they basically run screaming.” A note of self-deprecating humor crept into her voice, and Dipper smiled. 

“Well. They’re dumb. No, they’re… wait, what’s worse than dumb?” the playful, slightly sideways complements came naturally. Everything he’d always wanted to tell her on the tip of his tongue. Wendy laughed though, and Dipper joined her. It felt good to hear her laugh, to laugh with her. After yesterday he’d thought she was going to cut him out of her life. He couldn’t understand her anger, the logic behind it, but he didn’t begrudge it. 

Wendy stopped laughing and sighed. “Seriously though, dude. I’m sorry.” 

Yet again she’d blindsided him. “For what?” 

“For.” she gestured vaguely toward him. “This. The whole...Hanahaki thing.” 

“Oh.” he blinked, then shook his head. “That’s not your fault.” 

“Eh.” Wendy shrugged.”Kinda is.” 

“No!” Dipper was to the counter now, it was the only thing separating him. He’d grown not quite a full two inches over the year. Mabel had made it the full two inches and Dipper wasn’t bitter at all, in that he actually really was. Still, he was tall enough now to easily look over the counter and “If I can’t control my feelings, you definitely can’t control - just...being yourself.” He took a deep breath. To his surprise it didn’t quite come clear, but there was no sign of a fit coming. “It’s not your fault I fell in love with you.” and he reached again for her hand. 

She pulled away and he deflated a little. He should have expected that. She didn’t look at him, staring instead at the cash register. Like it would give her some sort of answer. Technically, given the price of most medical treatments, she might be onto something in that money was most likely the answer. If he was going to get the surgery, that was. “You know, I never thought it was serious right?” she said suddenly, and Dipper startled. “Like...three, four years ago? Man, I had so many crushes. Twelve-year-old me was in love with like...five different people.” she shrugged. “Maybe two of them still matter to me at all? And I know I don’t like them like that anymore.” 

The thought of Wendy - a Wendy that was his age, acting like Mabel. Crushing mindlessly on random guys and bouncing back when they said no… he tucked the thought away for the option to later indulge the fantasy of stepping into that Wendy’s life and returning her feelings and - the vague memory of an even younger Wendy who had been attracted to him crossed his mind. He wondered if it really was just age separating them. “That’s fair.” he said finally, and he tried to take a stranglehold on the hope that was creeping in on him. He had to try. “Knowing it’s… knowing I’m serious.” he sighed. She still wasn’t looking at him. “...it doesn’t change anything. Does it?” 

“Afraid not.” she finally looked at him. She took his hand that was still resting on the counter. “I really like you a lot, Dipper. You’re like. One of the most important people in my whole life. I just…” she squeezed his hand again and Dipper thought he might cry. “I just...I guess I just don’t like you the right way.” 

“I understand.” and how was his voice so even, so mature when all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and sob until he suffocated? He managed a slight smile though, squeezed her hand back and prompted “So why am I still a jerk?” 

Her expression changed, hardened. She went from a sad smile to a glare in an instant and Dipper’s heart itself leapt into his throat before dropping like a stone to his gut. She was terrifying and he loved her. “Because you’re not getting help!” she shouted, yanking him close over the counter. She bent to come within inches of his face to look him squarely in the eyes. “You haven’t even gone to a doctor! You come to me first for some reason I don’t even know.” She relaxed her hold and Dipper pulled his arm back, rubbing at the side of his hand where she’d squeezed too hard as she continued. “You could’ve just not told me, you know? Just. Said it was anything else if you needed hospital time. Instead you not just told me, but told me first. That is without a doubt a jerk move.” 

Dipper took a deep breath. Okay, so she had a point there. He still ought to explain himself. Explain his reasoning. Explain the choice he was looking at. “The treatment is a surgery.” he said finally. She looked at him curiously. “They remove the flowers, and when I wake up, my feelings for you are gone too.” She gave him an expectant, questioning look, correctly assuming there was more. “But. If it goes wrong. I might not even remember you at all.” 

Wendy blinked. “Oh.” 

That wasn’t even the worst part, and he aimed for admitting that. “Which...there are worse things that can happen.” 

“Ya Think?” Wendy snapped 

Dipper rolled his eyes. “I thought you deserved a say?” 

“Huh?” 

Dipper sighed. Okay, so he’d have to focus more on the memory thing than he had been. He closed his eyes and thought back to what he’d said in his letter to Wendy. Tried to cherry pick the parts of that to voice so that if it came to her reading it it wouldn’t all be redundant, but she’d understand now. “If I’m gonna lose something as precious as our memories together…” he trailed off and went in a new direction. The source of the pain he expected that to be. He blinked back tears that, for the first time all year, weren’t for himself or his love. “I...I know how it feels when someone you care about forgets you.” Wendy’s eyes widened as she realized what he meant and he looked away. “I wanted your okay before I took that risk.” 

“Okay…” Wendy breathed, taking that all in. Then “So maybe you’re not a jerk.” Dipper had just enough time to smile before Wendy shouted “You’re just stupid! God, Dipper, did you really think I’d want you to not get help, just so you could keep remembering me? Even if I were that selfish it’s not like we can’t just build new memories. Or not. Even if you never wanted to hang out again you’d still be _there_. You wouldn’t be…” 

“Actually…” Dipper offered what he hoped was a wry smile. He was about to veer wildly off her point and she might hate him for it but it was worth a shot at making her feel better. “There doesn’t seem to be any consensus on how long a person with Hanahaki Disease has post-diagnosis. I could well live a decently long life. Or I could die tomorrow.” 

Okay, that last sentence had been a mistake. He could hear it before he saw the way her expression changed. “Tomorrow?” she echoed, stricken. Then the anger was back. “Did you literally risk your life just to tell me first?!” Dipper shrugged “I can’t believe this!” Wendy shouted “You ARE a Jerk, that’s not okay!” she stepped away from the counter and began pacing. “None of this is okay, none of this is fair!” 

Dipper just stood back and watched her for a moment before quietly offering “I know.” 

She stopped. She stepped over to the wall behind the counter and leaned on it, then sank down. He joined her after a moment, sitting beside her, not looking at her. He wanted to take her hand again. He was a little afraid she’d break it if he tried. Eventually she spoke, softly. “...I’d love you if I could, you know.” Dipper looked at her then. Her hair was covering most of her face and her knees were drawn up to her chest. “This isn’t me being… you’re my best friend, Dipper. Knowing there’s something I could do to save you, but I can’t? It’s the worst feeling ever.” 

Distantly, Dipper wondered if it was actually a worse feeling then realizing that the person you love not feeling the same was literally killing you. He didn’t ask though. Instead he just said quietly “I’m sorry.” 

They sat like that for a while, not touching, in silence. The silence was somewhere between awkward and companionable. The woods outside beckoned and Dipper was just starting to think of getting up and going when Wendy snorted. “Dude. Stan is gonna flip so hard when you tell him.” Dipper winced and Wendy looked up. “Wait, Dipper, have you not even told Mabel?” she looked at him, and his guilty face must have given him away. “Oh, Holy SHIT dude, you are in so much trouble.” 

Again with the cursing. No time to decide if he liked that or not. Instead just “You think so?” 

“Oh I know so.” she shot back, then joked “I’ll start planning your funeral now because if the hanahaki doesn’t get you, your family will.” 

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to crack up laughing, or even to smile. She’d set herself up too perfectly and she would kill him herself if he didn’t take the shot. “You know, it’s not very nice to joke with someone who’s actually dying about planning their funeral.” 

“Oh.” 

God he couldn’t have asked for a more perfect reaction. The slight deflation, the understated panic. He broke into peels of laughter and gasped “I’m kidding! God, could you imagine?” Wendy looked confused for a second, then broke into a grin and retaliated with a well-deserved punch in the arm. Dipper grinned. “Seriously though, that was both hilarious and a little touching. “‘Cause I know you were kinda serious.” 

“Maybe I was.” Wendy responded, smiling. Then, her grin twisted slightly and she commented “I’d say we should leave it to Mabel but - “ and Dipper guffawed. Wendy shook her head. “Wow, we’re morbid.” 

“We are.” Dipper agreed. But it felt good. Laughing and joking about his own mortality. There were reasons, he realized, that went deeper than just giving her a say, that he’d told Wendy first. He’d seen in a sitcom once, or was it a soap opera? That the person you love is the person you want to talk about things with. Get their impressions, their opinions when you had a decision to make. He’d wanted to talk to Wendy about all this for the same reason he was sick in the first place. He loved her with everything in him. Which meant, humor aside, it was time to be completely honest. “Wendy, I’m scared.” 

“I know.” she said softly. She took a deep breath. “Just. Tell your family. Go home. Get the surgery. You’ll be okay.” 

He sniffed, and rubbed at an eye that hadn’t quite produced full tears. “But what if I forget you?” 

“Like I said. We’ll make new memories.” 

“But that’s not even - “ he was halfway through the sentence when he realized he shouldn’t tell her that. Sure, it scared him the most out of all of this. More than dying, even. But you just don’t tell the person you’re in love with, even when your love for them is literally killing you, you don’t just tell them you’re thinking about moving on and loving someone else. “Never mind.” he pulled himself to his feet and offered her a hand. “Thanks, Wendy.” 

She took his hand and used it and the wall to get back to her feet. “Nonono.” she said once she was standing, not letting go of his hand. “There’s more. What is it?” 

He sighed. “There’s another possible side effect.” Because she asked, right? He had to tell her because she asked. 

“Oh?” 

His breath caught and he wondered if it was another fit coming on. “Some...uh. Some people who’ve had the surgery?” he hesitated, wondering if it was too late to back out. The answer was a resounding yes. “They report...they’ve said they’re not…” and there were the tears, threatening all over again and he blinked hard to keep them from going anywhere. “They can’t fall in love anymore, Wendy.” he blurted out finally. “They stop being able to form romantic attachments at all.” 

“Oh.” It was an understated reaction, but one that understood the gravity of what he’d just said.

“Yeah.” 

Wendy took a breath. “Dipper, I’m - ” 

“Don’t.” he cut her off. He squeezed her hand. He wanted to touch her. Put his hand on her face, play with her hair. He just squeezed her hand again though and said “Don’t you dare apologize again. It’s not your fault and -” he had to. He closed distance between them and hugged her tight. She returned the embrace as he said “Whatever I decide, I won’t regret loving you.” 

She squeezed him a moment, then pulled back to look at him. “Okay, first of all, cheesy as shit dude.” he grinned at her, and she grinned in return. “Second, What do you mean by decide?” 

His grin wavered, but he kept it. He didn’t want to explain. “Hey, I might be dying.” he said, cheerfully as he could manage. “I’ve earned the right to a little cheese.” 

“Might…” Wendy pulled away “Decide… Dipper…” she glared at him. “You’re not seriously…” She trailed off. He shrugged. She...it wasn’t quite a wince. Her body jerked, her arm lifted, and she held herself back. Dimly, Dipper became aware she had just very nearly slapped him. Or worse. She took a few unsteady breaths then demanded “Why?” 

Dipper groaned and leaned against the wall again. Wendy just stared at him. “Okay, I’m not like...the huge romantic Mabel is? But. I still want to find someone.” he shrugged. “Get married. Have kids. That’s a huge chunk of my future the surgery might take away.” 

“As opposed to the entire chunk the flowers will take away if you don’t take them out!” Wendy was shouting again, and Dipper winced. 

“Like I said.” he commented. “I don’t know how long I have. I don’t know if finding someone else will get rid of them on its own. I don’t even know - “ he swallowed, yet again, he caught himself halfway through a sentence he probably shouldn’t say but here he was. Might as well finish it without Wendy having to drag it out of him. “I’m not even sure I want to live like that, you know?” 

“Dipper…” her voice was low, and warning, and worst of all pained. 

“It’s my life, Wendy.” he snapped. “My choice.” 

She winced and glared at him. “That’s honestly fucked up, dude.” she practically growled. 

He sighed. That was three. Three times in two days Wendy had actively cursed at him. That might be more curse words then he’d had directed at him in the same twenty-four hours in his life, and he’d just graduated middle school. “I know.” he said after a moment. “It’s selfish, but it’s still my decision.”

She deflated. “I guess so.” then she shrugged. “But you know what I think. What everyone’s gonna think.” 

Dipper turned that over in his head. It was easy enough to reverse it, what he’d say if one of his loved ones was refusing a life-saving procedure because of some romantic notion of what their life could have been. He knew how he’d respond, and he knew what that response would ultimately be. “Isn’t that also selfish?” 

Wendy looked dumbfounded by the question. She gaped at him a moment, then shrugged again. “Maybe it is.” she stepped back and leaned against the counter, then pulled herself up to sit on it. “You’re not really thinking about just not getting the surgery, are you?” 

Despite what he’d said, it still managed to be a good question. Dipper shrugged. “Who knows?” he answered, then he smirked. “If nothing else, maybe it’ll get me to stop wasting time. Make the most of my life in the moment.” 

“You know you can still do that after the surgery, right?” Wendy asked, almost taunting. 

Dipper snorted. “That’s like trying to meet a self-imposed deadline.” 

Wendy made a similar noise of partial laughter. “Yeah, okay.” she admitted. Then she smiled at him. “So. Making the most of every day, huh? What’s that look like right now?” 

“Exploring.” Dipper answered without hesitation. “Get to know these woods again.” He paused, then grinned. “Honestly if there’s one thing I love almost as much as you, it’s probably Gravity Falls?” 

She smirked, but there was sadness in it that he regretted putting there with everything in him. “Sap.” she teased. 

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I gotta get my courage to tell everyone else tonight from somewhere.” 

She nodded. “You’re telling them tonight, huh?” 

“Yeah.” he said. “No use putting off the inevitable.” 

“Good luck.” she said, and maybe it meant more than just at dinner.

“Thanks.” he said simply, and headed out for a hike.


	3. Chapter 3

They had breakfast for dinner that night. Dipper had encountered a family of Plaidypus’ in the woods and spent a while watching them. The lingering smell of Maple Syrup in his mind had led to him mumbling “Stancakes?” when asked what he wanted for dinner on arrival at home before truding upstairs. He hadn’t expected to be taken seriously, but it was kinda perfect timing. 

The stancakes today came with sides of bacon, eggs, sausage links, and hash browns, courtesy of Melody, who Stan commented as they sat down to dinner had “Actually stayed out of my way in the kitchen and still came out with this!” as he gestured toward the feast accompanying the pancakes that had somehow come out less hairy than the ones he’d learned to enjoy last summer. He commented on this, which led to Ford mentioning that Stan was gaining experience in cooking for more than himself and it showed. Stan brushed him off. 

Dinner was amazing. Dipper almost hated to ruin it, but now that Wendy knew, expected him to tell them now, he had to or else someone might learn it from her instead. “Hey…” he began. “Have uh, have any of you guys ever heard of Hanahaki Disease?” 

No one answered right away. Melody and Ford both looked considering, as if trying to place the name. Mabel and Stan just looked understandably confused. Why would he bring up a random disease over dinner? Soos, who had somehow mixed both looks, suddenly spoke. “Oh yeah, dude. That's uh, that's that thing that makes you puke up flowers and stuff ‘cause the person you like doesn't like you back. I saw it in an anime once.” 

“Really?” Dipper asked, he was surprised. There’d been so little information about the disease he hadn’t expected any media on the subject, much less fictional media, to make its way over from Japan. 

Soos nodded. “Yeah. Forget what it was called, good show though. Not too long if you wanna watch it.” 

“I might.” Dipper said. “It uh. It might be good to see.” 

The silence that followed was heavy. Like everyone could tell there was something more but no one wanted to find out. It was Ford who broke the silence. “Why do you ask, my boy?” 

“Because it’s real.” That was easier to say, to start with. It was just another unnecessary delay. Another seconds hesitation before ripping off the band-aid. Dipper fixed his eyes on his half-eaten stack of stancakes when he finally did it. “I have it.” 

Silence. For the second it lasted, Dipper thought it was the worst possible reaction. Then Mabel cut through it with a sharp _**What?**_ and chaos descended. Ford, Soos, and Mabel all started asking questions at once. To his credit, Soos only would get out half a question at a time, pausing to try to let the others ask and then offering what he must have meant as clarifications. Ford’s questions were clinical. Are there any other symptoms? How long has this been happening? And most horrifying, Do you know of a cure? While Mabel’s were personal. “Is this a joke?” “Why didn’t you tell me?” and “Is it because of Wendy?” and even though he’d seen her, hugged her only that morning, Wendy’s name being said aloud felt like a knife to his throat. Abulita was trying to hush Soos, and Stan was doing the same with Ford, only he was on the verge of yelling. 

It was too much. He shouldn’t have done this at dinner. There was too much and Dipper couldn’t - 

He felt the tickle in his throat that started to close his airway and he coughed, covering his mouth and running, coughing so hard it shook his entire frame. It seemed he had a cough for every step. By the time he got to the bathroom there was a thick clump of yellow petals in his hand. He threw them in the trash and turned to lock the door behind him. 

The knocking and rattling of the doorknob started seconds later. Dipper closed the lid on the toilet and sat heavily, tears springing to his eyes. Mabel and Stan were both outside, both asking if he was okay, and pleading with him to open the door. He heard Ford’s voice cut through, low and steady, demanding “Let’s give him some space.” followed by a lot of soft words he couldn’t hear. 

This had not gone the way he planned, and as soon as Dipper heard footsteps walking away from the bathroom, he broke down sobbing. He leaned heavily on the bathroom counter beside the toilet and buried his face in his arms. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, long enough to cough up a few white petals streaked with pink. Long enough that when he stopped he didn’t hear any sound outside the door. 

So when he finally unlocked and opened it after washing his face thoroughly, he couldn’t have been more surprised to see Stan sitting in the hallway, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom, head leaned back. He looked up when Dipper opened the door though. He stood there for a moment, then “So that’s why they call it choking on flowers, huh?” he gestured beside him, and Dipper numbly took the two steps over and sat beside his Grunkle on the floor. They were silent for a long moment before Stan asked “How bad?” 

This was easier. The group thing was a mistake. Dipper let out a long breath and shifted slightly so his arm brushed Stan’s. He was still unsteady, and needed reassurance. Stan also leaned slightly into the subtle touch and waited for Dipper to answer. “I’m not sure.” Dipper finally admitted. “I...I did a lot of research and...without, uh without surgery it’s pretty much always fatal.” 

Stan nodded slowly. Dipper waited for him to question why he wasn’t getting the surgery then. All the questions Wendy had asked about treatment. Instead, Stan just stayed quiet, and Dipper continued answering the question he’d actually asked. “But there’s no timetable. No...set stages. You cough up flowers, and you die.” he paused, then “Well. There’s...basically the flowers are growing in my lungs. And once they…” he stopped, feeling Stan sag a little heavier against his arm and looked up at him. Stan’s face was empty. Carefully neutral. His mouth was drawn thin and his jaw was forced lose. Stan glanced down and Dipper couldn’t begin to describe the moment when he met his eyes. He expected himself to cough, but no, no there was no distraction from the intensity of the sadness and terror he saw there. “I’m sorry.” Dipper breathed. 

“Nothin ta be sorry for, kid.” Stan grumbled, then grunted as he pulled himself first to a low squat then fully to his feet. Dipper followed, and Stan explained “Ford took your sister up to the attic when you’re ready ta talk to her. Meantime, I’m gonna watch some TV. Soos said he was gonna make up a little camping pack for ya if you need out of the house in a hurry. Just don’t be gone too long.” 

Dipper stared up at Stan in awe. “How - I just told you - “ 

Stan shook his head. He looked like he was going to say something, but no words came. Instead he just closed the distance between them and grabbed Dipper into a tight hug. Dipper wrapped his arms around Stan’s middle in return and took the comfort offered, and tried to give some back. Then Stan pulled away and looked at him seriously. “I’m takin ya to the doctor tomorrow.” he said, and that was it. There was no room for argument. There was a protest on the tip of Dipper’s tongue but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Not to Stan. So he just nodded. Stan walked away, calling over his shoulder “I’ll be watchin TV if you - eh, I’ll be watchin TV.” 

Dipper stood in the hallway for several minutes longer, just leaning against the wall and processing. Stan was taking him to the doctors. Medical intervention, there wasn’t another option. Well, there was. He could go into the kitchen, grab his pack, and just stay in the woods until he figured it out. He didn’t want that though, didn’t want to be isolated from his friends and family. Besides, a doctor's visit didn’t mean the same as getting the surgery. Maybe they’d just do a chest X-Ray or something, see how bad the growth was, maybe get an estimate for how long he had to decide? 

Stan hadn’t taken the news as well as he pretended to. Dipper appreciated the pretence, in a way. He wasn’t sure he could take the full force of Grunkle Stan’s pain over the prospect of losing him. Just meeting his eyes had been hard enough. And now he had to face...exponentially worse...from Mabel. She was the other half of him, the half he’d kept his illness a secret from, outright lied to even, for the better part of a year. He’d honestly be surprised if she even wanted to talk to him. 

When he got to their attack bedroom, he was surprised to find Mabel curled up against their Great Uncle Ford’s side. They had one of her teen magazines open on Ford’s lap, and seemed to be doing a quiz together. It would have been shocking, if not for the puffiness of Mabel’s eyes suggesting Ford was only doing it to help her stop crying. He tried to go unnoticed, to watch them together like this for a moment. It was ruined when they noticed him though. Mabel seemed to shrink back behind Ford, away from Dipper, and Dipper hadn’t thought his heart could be broken any worse than it was given the diagnosis but there it was, a whole new kind of pain that made him almost positive the flowers were thriving from the pressure in his lungs. 

Ford pulled away from Mabel, who looked up at him, hurt. “I’ll, leave you two to talk.” he said quietly. Then he took the small number of steps across the room to Dipper’s side, where he reached down and squeezed his shoulder. Dipper leaned into the too-brief touch until it was gone. The door shut behind him, and he was alone with his sister. 

Mabel looked at him, and her puffy, red-rimmed eyes were enough to almost see Dipper spinning on his heel and walking away, running away, out into the woods where he’d never have to face her, never have to - “I’m sorry.” The apology came out suddenly, without thought, straight from his gut. “Mabel I - I’m so sorry…”

“You’re **Sorry**?” Mabel nearly shouted. “I’m your twin, Dipper. You should have told me!” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I - “

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” Mabel screeched. Dipper didn’t respond, and in the silence that followed Mabel seemed suddenly full of restless energy as rage took hold and she grabbed her pillow and hurled it at him. Dipper put his arms out so it wouldn’t hit him in the chest and knocked the pillow aside. Then he picked it up and handed it back to her without a word. Mabel sniffed and asked “Is it...Dipper…” she hesitated, then “Tell me it’s not as bad as it sounds. Whenever someone in a book says something about choking on flowers they talk about dying and...it’s always a metaphor but -” 

“Okay, how does everybody know about this choking on flowers saying but me?” Dipper asked, “I mean, I thought the concept _sounded_ romantic but I’d never -” 

“It’s a girl thing.” Mabel dismissed. “Is it bad?” 

Dipper wanted to sit down. His legs trembled but Mabel was angry and honestly she had every right to be, so he had no right to intrude on her bed, and wasn’t going to turn his back or even just back away to get to his. So instead he stood there, looking at her uncomfortably close, and nodded. Mabel’s face fell and, just as he could see her sudden despair begin to morph back into anger he said “But there’s a surgery to fix it and-” 

Already committed to her anger, Mabel interrupted him. “You could’ve led with that, dummy!”   
“When?” Dipper demanded “When everyone started talking over each other the minute I said the word disease? Kinda weird to start with ‘hey there’s a cure for Hanahaki Disease’ before I even mention I have it!” 

“I mean it woulda gone over a lot better I bet.” 

“Yeah, except I’m not even sure I want the surgery, Mabel!” 

Well. He hadn’t meant to admit that. Mabel’s eyes went wide and she looked at him. Looking back was one of the hardest things Dipper had ever done in his life. Then she looked down, and scooted over, making room for him on her bed. Dipper blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. He didn’t question it though, instead he just crawled up and sat beside her. She tipped over to lean on him and he put his arm around her shoulders. He didn’t know what she was thinking, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

“I guess it usually does feel like you’re dying when you love someone who doesn't love you back.” Mabel said finally. “And - I guess since you...actually are…” her voice broke, just a little, and she shifted her face harder into his shoulder and mumbled “It’d be weird to take that away, huh?” 

“Mabel…” Dipper whimpered, pulling her closer. “I don’t want to die.” 

“I know.” Mabel answered softly. Then “...how long have you known?” 

Dipper sucked in a breath. “You’re not gonna like it.” 

Mabel snorted. “That long, huh?” 

“Since September.” Dipper answered, and Mabel seemed to freeze. “The night we got back, when we were up late looking for a present for Soos - I…”

“You lied!” she gasped. He nodded, and she pulled away from him. “Dipper! We promised!” 

“I’d just found out I was _dying,_ Mabel.” Dipper nearly shouted, desperation coming through clear in his voice. “That wasn’t supposed to happen!” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper when he breathed “Not...Not in California.” 

Mabel blinked at him. “Not at all.” she corrected. Dipper was silent and Mabel carefully prodded at his shoulder. “Dip? What do you mean?” 

“I almost died - we.” he corrected “almost died last summer. A lot. I...barely gave it a second thought. It wasn’t scary here. We...or at least I...I’m better here. Braver.” 

“So that’s why you waited.” Mabel said, voice tiny. Too small for his sister. 

Dipper nodded. “I couldn’t...not there. I had to just try to be a kid there, you know?” 

“You could have told me.” Mabel insisted, trying to cling to a shred of the anger that seemed, thankfully, to be fast dissolving. 

“I know.” Dipper responded. “I just, didn’t want to do that to you.” 

“But you had to do it sometime, why make it worse by waiting? We’re in this together, right?” 

Dipper shook his head. “We’re...kinda not, Mabel. Whatever happens, you’re gonna be okay. And...whatever happens...I’m not.” 

“But I thought you said there’s a surgery…” 

“ImightforgetWendy.” Dipper said in a rush, and Mabel’s face fell as the weight of the words hit her first, then their meaning washed over her in a wave that left her expression devastated. Dipper hated to make it worse, but he had to. “And even if I don’t...I won’t love her anymore, Mabel. The feelings come out with the flowers.” 

He expected Mabel to echo his own thoughts about how he’d been trying to get over her anyway, how that was okay. Instead she just gasped softly and curled back into his side. He put his arm around her again. He’d expected some amount of empathy, but her quiet, horrified “That’s _awful_.” was a little more than he expected. 

“That’s...not even the bad part.” Dipper said, and Mabel looked up, startled. Dipper winced. He should have just left it at that. He shouldn’t tell her...maybe he could distract her. She’d be angry though. “It...is why I decided to tell Wendy first though.” 

Mabel blinked at him. Then, voice nearly flat “Wow, you’re a jerk.” 

Dipper couldn’t help a tiny smile. “That’s exactly what she said. And she swore at me. Three times.” 

Mabel dropped her head to rest against his shoulder again, even as she commented “You deserved it.” 

“It just seemed...fair? You know? So she’d know why if I suddenly didn’t...remember her. Or worse, just didn’t...like her at all anymore.” 

“You think the surgery will make it so you can’t even be her friend anymore?” Mabel was talking in that too-small voice again. He hated that she was as scared as he was by all this, maybe moreso. It was also strangely comforting, something he didn’t have the mental capacity to unpack right this second. 

“I don’t know.” Dipper answered. “All I know is that when I read about the side effects, even just the...the possible side effects...I all but dismissed the surgery out of hand.” 

“But then you’ll die.” Mabel protested. “Even if staying alive means you can’t be Wendy’s friend anymore I’m sure she’d say it’s worth it.” 

Dipper nodded. “She did.” He’d have to tell her to explain himself. He squeezed her shoulders and said “...but it’s not just about her.” Mabel looked up at him in confusion without pulling away. He answered before she could ask. “Some people who’ve gotten the surgery report...that afterwards they’re...unable to...develop romantic attachments. To anyone.” Mabel gasped and pulled away from him, looking at him in horror. Dipper nodded. “It’s...I don’t know the odds, Mabel, and that’s...terrifying. It’s one thing to be sick but with something this rare and...that even if I survive it could impact my life...like that…”

“I understand.” Mabel said suddenly. “I understand completely. Wow...Dipper I...I don’t know if I’d want it either if I were you…” Dipper looked at her suddenly, sharply, and she suddenly stammered “I didn’t - no. I mean. You definitely should, I want you to be okay I just-” 

“I know.” Dipper said, but his voice had gone faint, and he could hear his pulse in his ears. He felt sick to his stomach, and waited a few moments for a coughing fit to come, but one didn’t. It was just what she’d said. “Y-you don’t though? You might not…” 

Mabel looked confused for a beat, then slowly a broad, albeit still sad, grin crossed her face. “Doesn’t feel so good the other way around, huh?” 

“Doesn’t feel good at all.” Dipper both agreed and corrected. Then he sighed. “So are you still mad at me?” 

“Yes.” Mabel answered without hesitation. “...but I’m more scared.” 

“I’m sorry.” Dipper said softly. “I really am, for...for what it’s worth I almost told you on the bus here, but you fell asleep.” 

“I mean I’d have stayed awake if I’d known you had a life-shattering secret you were planning on sharing.” Mabel answered. Dipper snorted a little and Mabel just nuzzled into his side. Dipper just stayed like that with her for a little while, holding his sister close. Finally she pulled away and looked at him, then said seriously “I want you to get the surgery, Dipper. I don’t want you to die and I don’t care if you’ll never have a girlfriend or I’ll never get to be an auntie or anything I want to at least stay a twin.” 

It hurt. Everything she had just said hurt. He dropped his head back to rest against the wall and sighed heavily. That much airflow did it and the coughing started. Dipper would have pulled away, slipped off to the bathroom, but Mabel knew now. So instead he just turned his head and covered his mouth, assuming it would just be a few little coughs and maybe a petal or two. 

It went on for a while, and Mabel pulled away from him, looking at him, eyes wide with concern overlaying a quiet terror. Dipper couldn’t stop coughing, and his whole body was shaking, jerking with each harsh sound. He didn’t know how long it was, but it felt like hours, before a clump of fully pink petals appeared in his hand, covered in spit. He thought it was done, but the coughing continued for a moment and Dipper desperately tried between coughs to suck air in, suddenly acutely afraid in a way he hadn’t been since those early nights lying in bed.

This couldn’t be it. Not right after he told everyone. Not in Mabel’s bed. He couldn’t just suffocate here. It felt for all the world like he would though.

Then a pair of white petals followed the pink and Dipper felt himself gag briefly on the familiar silken sensation dragging through his throat. Then it was over. Slowly, he closed his fist around the petals and and looked up at Mabel, who was crying again. “It’s okay.” he croaked, voice rough from the recent abuse to his throat. 

“It’s not!” she cried. “You’re dying and it’s not okay, Dipper! Not okay at all!” A sob shook through her, and Dipper couldn’t help but reach for his sister and pull her close again. She buried her face in his chest and cried and Dipper could do nothing but hold her. 

Eventually she stopped, and pulled back to look at him. The petals had been clenched in his hand the entire time, the other had been resting open on her back and as she moved away from him he shifted it to her shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked finally. 

“No.” she answered honestly. Then “...I think I need to sleep. My eyes hurt really bad.” 

“Crying’ll do that to you.” Dipper commented.

Mabel’s expression turned concerned. “Have you cried yet?” she asked softly. 

Dipper hesitated, then nodded. “Puked first.” he admitted. “Like, real puke, not just flowers. Remember when mom threw out the meat sauce?” 

“That was this?!” Mabel asked, a bit of energy returned to her voice before she punched him in the arm. Not nearly as hard as she normally might have. “That meat sauce was good, and you knew it wasn’t what made you sick!” 

An argument came to the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t like half a pound of ground beef and some tomato paste and fresh vegetables were worth breaking his entire family’s hearts before he was ready. He let it go instead and just said “Ow, sorry.” 

Mabel made a little noise and then pulled back the rest of the way. “I think I need to sleep.” she said after a bit. 

Dipper nodded. “I’m gonna go throw these away.” he gestured with his fist, then “...and maybe go talk to Grunkle Stan a little more. He’s...taking it pretty hard too.” 

“Maybe also talk to Grunkle Ford?” Mabel suggested. 

Dipper winced, and softly asked “How’s he doing?” 

Mabel shrugged. “He was too busy taking care of me. You really should make sure he…” she paused, then said “y’know.” 

Dipper did know. He nodded. “Okay. I’ll check on him.” he slid off of the bed and started toward the door.

“Thanks.” Mabel said quietly. He could hear her stretch out on the bed behind him. Then “G’night, Dipper.” 

“Night, Mabel.” he said quietly before slipping out of their room. 

Before he could close the door Mabel called out. “Dipper?” 

Dipper opened the door again and leaned in. “Yeah?” 

“You’ll still be okay in the morning, right?” 

Well what was he supposed to say to that? “Eh,” was not the first sound he expected to come out of his mouth, not so easily. But when “I don’t think my odds are too much worse than ever.” followed, he realized that he could be at his most clever if he just didn’t think about it. Mabel huffed a noise that probably would have been a laugh under any other circumstances. So he added “Tell you what though, if I think I’m dying, I’ll wake you up.” 

“You’d better.” she threatened. 

Dipper chuckled a little and closed the door, then started downstairs to talk a little more with Stan. 

Despite what he’d said, Stan wasn’t in front of the TV. For a second Dipper thought he was, the TV was on and there was a figure in the chair, but Dipper soon realized that figure was actually Soos. He took a deep breath and approached anyway. “Hey Soos.” he greeted. “Where’s Stan?” 

“Oh, uh -” Soos hesitated, mind clearly scrambling, and Dipper winced. He hoped Soos of all people wasn’t going to treat him differently now. It was something of a relief when he just said “I think he went downstairs, dawg. Hang out with Dr. Pines.” 

“Oh.” Dipper felt a sudden rush of disappointment. Stan had said he’d be watching TV… probably not a lie, he probably just… Dipper sighed and shook his head, refocusing. Then he looked at Soos and said “Thank you, by the way. It was uh - kind-of a relief when you knew what I was talking about earlier.” 

“Oh, yeah, huh.” Soos responded. “Yeah that’s pretty wild, dude. I had no idea Hanahaki Disease was real.” 

Dipper nodded. Then “It is. Um. Just...just so I know...what ended up happening? In the anime? To the character with...Hanahaki?” 

Soos shrugged, then “The uh - the girl she liked turned out to like her back so the whole thing just kinda…” he held up his hand, fingers curled, and uncurled then with a little whooshing noise. “Went away.” Dipper felt a sharp pang of disappointment and Soos must have seen it on his face because he added “Not uh, not gonna happen for you then, huh?” 

“No.” Dipper replied. “Wendy was the first person I told. She’s...pretty upset, you know?”

“Well, yeah, everybody is.” Soos replied. “I mean, Melody doesn’t even know ya that well and she went to bed early ‘cause the news made her all sad. I think Abulita did too, but she didn’t say anything about why.” he paused and then sucked in a breath “...but yeah that must be extra rough on Wendy, huh? ...kinda makes telling her a bit of a jerk move then, huh?” 

Dipper groaned. “Yes. I know. I’m a jerk. I just thought she deserved a say.” 

Soos smiled knowingly, sadly. “You were hoping she’d like you back after all and the whole thing would go away, huh?” 

For a moment, Dipper felt defensive. The moment passed. “Hoping.” he agreed eventually. “Not expecting. Not...I mean, it’d have been pretty perfect, right?” 

“Oh, absolutely.” Soos agreed. “The scene in the anime where revealed her feelings to and ’s Disease went away was one of the most beautiful, most romantic moments I’ve ever seen.” 

“Well, I’m not getting a moment like that.” He responded, maybe a little more angry than he intended. “Ever. Because I’m either going to die without Wendy ever loving me back or they’re going to rip the flowers out of my lungs at the stupid hospital and ruin my ability to love anyone ever again!” 

“What? Woah. Back up there. Rip the flowers out and what?” 

Dipper sighed. “It’s not certain. It’s only...a possible side effect. I did some research and...honestly there’s not much. It’s really rare and a lot of the medical journals that report on it are Japanese and behind paywalls but...there were a couple reports I found where...after getting the surgery…” 

“Oh…” Soos looked like Dipper had punched him, and really he might as well have. Dipper huffed and Soos added “Oh, oh man. Dipper that - that’s rough. That’s...what are you gonna do?” 

“I don’t know.” Dipper answered. 

Soos shifted a little, then turned off the TV and pulled himself to his feet. Dipper looked up at him and Soos asked, a little to gently “Wanna know what I think?” 

“I think I already know.” Dipper responded, still a bit more irritable than he’d intended, but more exhausted than angry. 

Soos considered. “Probably, yeah. ‘Cause...I love Melody, you know? I really do. I think I’m gonna marry her someday. Maybe even soon. But if she had to just...stop being my girlfriend suddenly? Not even long distance. It…” he gave a long exhale, and said “It wouldn’t kill me. You know? It’d hurt, sure, but she’s not my whole life. I’ve got other things too. And even if I never found anyone else ever again...y’know I’d be lonely maybe but...I’ve got you guys, and Mr. Pines, and...y’know I’ve just got friends. And a business, and… you know? I guess I’m just saying that - whether you can love or not, there’s some other stuff really worth sticking around for.” Dipper didn’t answer. He hadn’t expected Soos to put himself in his position. To look at it so...personally. “Oh, dude, sorry. I kinda...got to talking a bit there huh?” Soos added. 

“No. No it’s alright.” Dipper assured. He offered a bit of a smile and asked “You’re sure you’re not just saying that ‘cause you’d miss me?” 

“I would absolutely miss you, dawg.” Soos replied without hesitation. “I miss you when you’re just in California sending me Hanukkah presents let alone -” he cut off abruptly and shook his head. “But I mean...I guess I just don’t like that you’re still so wrapped up in Wendy or- or the idea of a girl like Wendy, that you’re even asking questions like that.” 

Or a girl like Wendy. Dipper hadn’t thought of it like that. He wasn’t even sure if that’s what he’d been hoping for or not. “Thanks, Soos.” he said after a moment. “You’ve...given me a lot to think about. I uh, I think I’m gonna go check on Great-Uncle Ford now. Make sure he and Stan are...holding up okay, I guess?” 

Soos nodded and glanced around, as if surprised to find himself standing. He sank back into the armchair and nodded. “Yeah.” he agreed. “Good idea. I’ll see you in the morning?” 

“Grunkle Stan says he’s taking me to the doctor in the morning.” Dipper answered. Though it wasn’t really an answer.

Soos took it as one and just nodded again. “Alright.”

Dipper turned and headed back into the Gift Shop.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Count is Approximate. This was suppose to be a one shot.


End file.
